Chapter 6

Vanya POV

I pulled the thick manila envelope from my designer purse and held it up for everyone to see. The room fell into complete silence as all eyes focused on the legal documents in my hands. The power I felt in that moment was intoxicating, like electricity flowing through my veins.

"This, my dear husband," I said, my voice clear and strong as I stepped closer to Bernard, "is your divorce papers."

I slammed the envelope against his chest so hard that he stumbled backward, his face going from shock to confusion to anger in a matter of seconds.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he sputtered, but I could see the fear creeping into his eyes.

"Read through it carefully," I commanded, my voice ice cold. "Sign it, fuck off with your pathetic future plans, and get out of MY house."

The reaction was immediate and explosive. Bernard's friends burst into laughter, some of them doubling over and pointing at me like I was the funniest thing they'd ever seen.

"Your house?" one of them wheezed between laughs. "Did she just say HER house?"

"This woman has completely lost her mind!" another friend shouted. "Bernard, do you know how much you pay for this place? Thirty thousand dollars a month! You think this pathetic housewife can afford even one month's rent on a property like this?"

The laughter grew louder and more mocking. Some of them were taking videos with their phones, probably planning to post my "breakdown" on social media for everyone to see.

"Vanya, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Bernard yelled, his face red with embarrassment and rage. "Have you completely lost your goddamn mind? Where do you think you're going to get thirty thousand dollars a month? From your imaginary job? From your non-existent bank account?"

"I think that hospital accident scrambled her brains," another guest called out. "She's clearly having some kind of psychotic break. Someone should call a doctor."

"Maybe she hit her head harder than we thought," Bernard's best friend Marcus suggested with a cruel smile. "This is just sad to watch. She's completely delusional."

Bernard grabbed the envelope and waved it around mockingly. "Look at this, everyone! The housewife who can't even afford to buy her own clothes thinks she can kick me out of a million-dollar mansion! This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life!"

"She probably got those divorce papers from some discount lawyer," another friend laughed. "Probably paid for them with grocery money she saved by eating ramen noodles for a week."

The humiliation they were trying to pile on me should have made me crumble like it had so many times before. But instead, I felt the goddess's power flowing through me, making me stronger with each cruel word they spoke.

"You're all pathetic," I said calmly, my voice cutting through their laughter like a blade. "Laughing at something you're too stupid to understand."

"What we understand," Bernard said, stepping closer to me with a threatening expression, "is that you're having some kind of mental breakdown. You're embarrassing yourself in front of all these people, and you're embarrassing me."

"The only embarrassing thing here," I replied, looking him straight in the eye, "is that it took me five years to realize what a worthless piece of shit I married."

Before Bernard could respond, the front door burst open and Tracy's voice filled the house with excitement.

"Oh my God, baby! This surprise party is incredible!" Tracy squealed as she rushed through the doorway, her arms full of shopping bags and her face glowing with happiness. "I can't believe you did all this for my birthday! The decorations, the balloons, all our friends here! This is the best birthday surprise ever!"

She was practically bouncing with joy as she looked around the room, taking in all the party preparations. But then her eyes landed on me standing in the center of the crowd, and her expression changed completely.

Tracy's shopping bags dropped from her hands and crashed to the floor, spilling expensive clothes and jewelry everywhere. Her mouth fell open and her face went pale as she stared at me like she was seeing a ghost.

"What... who... is that..." she stammered, unable to form complete sentences.

Right behind her, Mrs. Fredrick walked through the door, her gray hair perfectly styled and her expression as sour as always. She was complaining about something until she saw the frozen crowd and the shocked expression on Tracy's face.

"What's going on here?" Mrs. Fredrick demanded, her sharp eyes scanning the room. "Why does everyone look like they've seen a dead person?"

Then her gaze found me, and I watched as recognition slowly dawned on her wrinkled face. Her eyes widened with shock and something that looked almost like fear.

"Who is that woman?" she whispered, pointing a bony finger at me. "Bernard, who is this person standing in our house?"

Tracy was still staring at me in complete disbelief, her brain struggling to process what she was seeing. "That... that can't be Vanya. That's impossible. Vanya doesn't look like that. Vanya can't afford to look like that."

"Oh, but it is me," I said sweetly, giving them both a brilliant smile. "Hello, Tracy. Hello, Mrs. Fredrick. So lovely to see you both again."

Mrs. Fredrick's face twisted with rage and disgust. "What is this THING doing in our house?" she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "Bernard, why is this pathetic woman dressed up like she's somebody important? And why is she holding papers in her hand like she has some kind of authority here?"

Tracy finally seemed to find her voice, though it was shaking with emotion. "Vanya, what the hell are you doing here? Today is MY birthday! This is MY party! You have no right to be here looking like... like..."

"Like what, Tracy?" I asked innocently, tilting my head. "Like a woman who knows her worth? Like someone who's finally tired of being treated like garbage by people who don't deserve to breathe the same air as her?"

"You look like a cheap whore playing dress-up," Mrs. Fredrick snarled. "Where did you steal the money for those clothes? Did you rob a bank while you were in the hospital?"

The room erupted in laughter again at her words, but I could see the uncertainty in their eyes. They were trying to convince themselves that this was all some kind of joke, but deep down they could sense that something fundamental had changed.

"The only cheap whore in this room," I said, my voice deadly calm, "is the one who's been fucking my husband behind my back for two years."

The silence that followed was deafening. You could have heard a pin drop as everyone turned to look at Tracy, whose face had gone from pale to bright red in a matter of seconds.

"How dare you," Tracy whispered, her voice shaking with rage. "How dare you accuse me of something so disgusting."

"Oh, I'm not accusing you of anything," I replied with a sweet smile. "I'm stating a fact. A fact I witnessed with my own eyes when I caught you two making out in my hospital room while I was supposed to be unconscious."

Mrs. Fredrick's mouth fell open in shock, and several party guests gasped audibly. The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"That's impossible," Bernard said quickly, but his voice lacked conviction. "You were in a coma. You couldn't have seen anything."

"Was I?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or was I just lying there, listening to every cruel word you both said about me while you groped each other like horny teenagers?"

Tracy's face crumpled as she realized that I knew everything. Mrs. Fredrick looked between her son and Tracy with growing understanding and disgust.

The party guests were now completely silent, their phones out and recording every second of the drama unfolding before them. This was about to become the most explosive confrontation any of them had ever witnessed, and they all knew it.

"Well," I said, looking around at all the shocked faces, "now that we're all here together, I think it's time we had a real conversation about what's been going on in this house."